Lost in His Obsession
by LadyWillow
Summary: What if things had happened differently after Christine saw his face? A retelling of the the musical and Kay that changes everything... EDITED & UPDATED!
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Only the plot and writing of this story is my own.

Notes: This came to me as a drabble when I really should have been doing something more productive but couldn't focus. I intend to write more, and feedback will help me decide where to take it.

Began November 26, 2006

**Lost in his Obsession**

_Chapter One_

His long fingers caressed the keys in a sensual dance that brought forth the most beautiful sounds known to man – and yet, no other would ever hear them.

Bringing up those glorious hands, Erik buried his terrible face into his perfect palms and sobbed.

Life had never been easy for him – born to a mother who thought him a punishment from God, an abomination, a child of Satan. His horrible visage – a face so malformed and distorted that a mask upon it was the only way anyone could even look.

Forced to remain indoors, friendless, a most intelligent child was made to squander his gift alone in a world that hated him.

And now, even thirty years later, things had not changed. Getting away from the house that was his prison for ten long years only brought upon him more pain and suffering at the hands of strangers: first those that feared and scorned him, and then those that locked him in a cage, beat and humiliated him, and treated him as if he were a creature, not a boy at all.

Hope, something he had precious little to begin with, was lost and never regained, even after he escaped such hellish torture, even after he was taken in by such a kindly man in Italy, even after he was taught the ways of masonry and treated as an equal.

Hope never returned to him, not until so many years later, when he first set eyes on Christine Daae.

Yes, Christine Daae. A beautiful young woman, fresh in the corps de ballet, soft-spoken, mild-mannered, and determined beyond all belief to succeed in memory of her father.

It was bound to happen.

He was bound to fall in love.

What better way to complete the torture of his life than to be in love with a beautiful, angelic woman and know that as a demon, he would only ever be a thing of her worst fears and nightmares.

But still he longed for her. Longed for a life where he could be a normal man, where he would be free to walk the city streets in daylight, free to court a beautiful woman, free to kiss her hand without fearing that he would be the cause of her revulsion.

Christine Daae represented all he desired, and all he had been denied.

All that he must have.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera.

**  
Lost in Obsession**  
_Chapter Two_

Convincing Christine Daae that he was the angel she so naively sought out was easy enough. She wanted so badly to have someone just her own, someone only for her…

And Erik found that playing the roll of an angel was simple when you cared for the person you were fooling. It was his pleasure to be attentive, helpful, caring, to give Christine all the companionship, support and love that she so needed. Soon, he wasn't playing a roll any more, and the fantasy had become a reality.

Christine Daae needed him, and he needed her, too.

It was only a matter of time.

Teaching her to sing was simple. All she desired in the world was to make her father proud and sing, something Erik was all too eager to give her. And in return, she was the perfect pupil. Punctual, attentive, respectful…

Until _he_ showed up.

The Vicomte Raoul de Changy.

The pompous, meddling fool threatened to ruin everything. His handsome face, his boyish charms, his wealth and remembrance of Christine…

Something had to be done.

And Erik knew what to do.

Of course, she was shocked at first, when he brought her down below to his kingdom, his domain, but his voice reassured her, his touch did not turn her from him, but instead made her long even more for his company, his attention.

Erik was thrilled.

So thrilled, that he didn't see it coming until it was too late.

She took his mask, and the illusion was shattered.

Erik was no longer an angel. Just a demon with the highest hopes and dreams of something so much more.

Her fear was understandable, as was his anger, although he spent much time afterwards regretting it immensely.

She ran to her Vicomte, and poor Erik was left all alone.

And this brings us to the present, and to where our story truly begins.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. I make no profit from this piece of fiction.

**Lost in Obsession**  
_Chapter Three__****_

Paris, 1880

It was a chilly August evening, and Christine was all too eager to stay indoors for the remainder of the day.

After her taste of perfection and happiness on the stage, everything had gone back to the way it was before, and Christine was left wondering if everything had just been a dream and this was her first day at the Opera House once more.

Carlotta was once again singing, Christine was once again a member of the chorus, and The Angel of Music was nowhere to be found.

But really, should she be thinking of him as such? He had revealed himself as nothing but a man, and a strange one, at that. And now, Christine did not know what to think of him, or how. Was he dangerous? Surely his anger had been frightening, but it was understandable, was it not? After all, she had been the one to so rudely remove the mask on his face… But how was she to know what it was that lay beneath?

Truly, she regretted the action, and wished dearly for a chance to apologize, but it did not seem that she would get such an opportunity. It had been three days, and there had been no sign of her strange angel.

No songs in her ear as she fell asleep, no roses left upon her vanity while she was rehearsing, and no lessons, worst of all.

Christine found herself dearly missing just the companionship of her odd friend. He had been so kind, so supportive.

It had seemed so very often that he was the only one who truly understood her loneliness, and her desire for companionship and a friendly face – or at least a friendly voice!

For the first time in many months, Christine was alone.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

XXXXXX

Meanwhile, Erik was having quite similar feelings. All alone again, he was acutely aware of just how important one young woman had become in his dreary excuse for a life.

He deeply regretted his harsh treatment of his precious and only friend when she had removed his mask, after all, could he blame her for her curiosity? She was hardly more than a child, fresh to womanhood and woefully new to the world in general, let alone the strange world that Erik called his own.

He could not blame her for pulling his mask away, he could only blame himself for the rage that followed.

Something _must_ be done.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera

**Lost in His Obsession**  
_Chapter Four_

Why was it so difficult for him to admit he'd been wrong? He must have been standing behind the mirror for two hours now, watching Christine as she studied and practiced her scant few lines for the upcoming production, and still he was unable to speak.

Or perhaps, unwilling to.

But what could he say?

"_I'm sorry that you saw my hideous face, burst into tears, and watched as I behaved like a crazed, wounded animal, screaming and raving for minutes on end before unmanning myself and bursting into womanly tears."_ ?

That certainly didn't bring his message across in the right context and manner, and Erik was lost as to what else he could possibly say.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he leaned ever so slightly against the damp stone wall beside him and continued to watch his only friend as she struggled with her concentration, stopping mid-line to stare thoughtfully across the room, obviously quite lost in her imagination.

_Thinking about that blasted Vicomte, to be sure._ Erik mused, grinding his teeth. _But I'll worry about taking care of him later._

His main priority was eliminating Christine's fear of her lost Angel, and then the Vicomte would be removed from the picture.

Permanently.

XXXXXX

How much longer was he going to watch her?

Christine had learned long ago to be able to tell when her strange angel was present. A certain feeling would find itself nestled in her belly, and it was almost as if the air was alive with his presence. Before, Christine had attributed it to holy energy, but now that she knew the truth about her tutor, she hadn't the slightest idea why she could sense his presence.

But she _could_.

And so, for the past two hours, she'd known he was watching, and for the past two hours she'd been waiting for him to enter, to speak, to do anything, really. But he had not done a thing.

And by now, Christine's patience was wearing thin.

"It is nothing, my lady, only the moon." She said, trying once again the passage in the newest production that was giving her so much trouble.

"No, my queen, there is not a soul there, except for the stable keep."

"'_Save for the stable keep', my dear. Not "except", "save"."_

She must have jumped a mile high when she heard the gentle, correcting timbre of her angel's voice, and she gasped. Sure, she knew he was there, but after two hours of silence, she had stopped expecting him to speak!

"_Honestly, child. If you do not begin to concentrate, you will not be ready for the performance at all," he gently admonished. "Where on earth is your head today?"_

Christine had to smile, she had missed his criticism in the few days she'd gone without.

"Forgive me, maestro." She murmured, head lowered.

And she jumped as she felt two icy hands on her shoulders!

"Posture, my dear." Erik purred, and Christine relaxed and sat up straight again.

"Good. Now, from the beginning of the scene again, if you please."

"But angel-"

"No!" he barked, before looking away for a moment. "Forgive me." He spoke, voice much more calm and controlled. "Please, do not call me that. Not any more."

"Of course, maestro." She breathed, quite contrite.

"Now, as I was saying-"

"Maestro?"

Erik grit his teeth for a moment, then let out a slow breath.

"Yes, child?"

"About… before, I just wished to-"

"We shall _not_ discuss it."

"But maestro-"

"No! You are not to mention that night again in my presence. There is nothing on the matter that needs to be discussed."

"But there is!"

"Oh? Perhaps you would like to know why your maestro is so _ugly_? Or why he lives below ground all alone? Or maybe, you wish to insist that he takes his demonic fallacies away from your God-fearing and impressionable self? Which is it, Christine? Tell me! I'm sure you could manage to twist the knife you've so deeply thrust into my heart a little harder! Say it!"

Silence, save for the harsh sound of his labored breathing, and then:

"I was wrong. I'm sorry."


	5. Chapter Five

It was several long, tense minutes before he could speak, and then all that would come out was a soft "oh…", hardly audible at all.

Frantically, Christine moved toward him, her hands outstretched in a beseeching manner.

"Please, maestro! I was wrong to do such a thing, wrong to take something from you with asking, without permission! It was a childish mistake! Punish me if you must, just please, don't leave me all alone! Forgive me, maestro, I beg of you!"

This was certainly unexpected! Erik stared, awe-struck, as Christine apologized for taking his mask, when he had been prepared to beg her forgiveness for the horror of his face. It didn't make sense!

"N-no, Christine. No. Do not be sorry. I lied to you, I pretended to be an angel, while I've been nothing but a monster all alone. I-I can only hope that my monstrous face will not haunt you for the rest of your life."

Sniffling, Christine moved closer, silently shaking her head.

"Poor maestro… what cruelties you must have known…"

He trembled backing away slightly.

"Please, let me show you friendship, maestro. Let me show you that your face-"

"Christine?" A firm knocking began on her dressing room door, and a voice called out to her. "Christine, are you ready? We must go if we are to make it in time for our reservations!"

She froze.

"Oh, dinner! I forgot!" she whispered, and Erik clenched his fists.

"The Vicomte." He hissed.

Christine stood before the mirror, hastily brushing out her hair.

"Just one moment please, Raoul!" she called as she began to pin up her locks quickly.

"You are going to dinner with the Vicomte." It was not a question.

"Yes! He invited me yesterday after rehearsals so we could begin to catch up! It's been so long since I last saw him. It's it exciting?" she exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "We can become friends again! He knew my father!"

Erik seethed. "I assure you, he wants much more than friendship." He hissed. Christine flushed and giggle nervously.

"Well, I'll need to get married some day!" she exclaimed with a soft giggle, then pulled on her cloak and red scarf, squeezed Erik's arm, and whirled out the door, giving him a sweet wave over her shoulder.

And Erik was left standing in the middle of the room.

Stunned.

"_I'll need to get married some day!"_

The words kept playing over and over in his mind, as Erik sat before his organ several hours later.

"_I'll need to get married some day!"_

He'd lost her. She would never love him.

"_I'll need to get married some day!"_

But you couldn't get married without a groom.

"_I'll need to get married some day!"_

And there could be no groom if there was no Vicomte Raoul de Changy.

It was time to make a plan.


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**  
Lost in His Obsession**  
_Chapter Six_

"Thank you so much for dinner, Raoul. I really enjoyed it." Christine murmured as the suave gentleman helped her down from the carriage.

"You're welcome. Are you sure you want me to leave you here? I can wait until you're finished and give you a ride home."

Christine shook her head and turned to look at the Opera House. "I'm sure, Raoul. I still have a lot to do, I may end up staying the night."

Raoul sighed. "If you're sure…" he gave Christine a sweet, boyish smile and kissed the back of her hand. "Have a good night." he said softly, then climbed back into the carriage and set off for home on the darkened Parisian streets.

Christine pulled her cloak a bit tighter about her shoulders and set off for the doors, her breath puffing in the air around her face. She quickly let herself inside, eager to get back to her dressing room and apologize to her maestro for her hurried departure.

"Maestro?" she called as she entered the room, hoping he was nearby and would hear her.

"Maestro, are you there?"

No answer.

Sighing, she made her way toward the mirror, and felt along the edges, smiling when something depressed and the mirror swung open.

If her maestro would not come to her, she would just have to go to her maestro.

XXXXXX

The catacombs were dark, moist and musty smelling, quite like she remembered from her trip through them jut a few days prior, although they seemed more impassable and frightening without her teacher there to guide her and hold her hand.

Trembling, Christine fumbled around the floor to the left of the mirror, searching for the lantern that her angel had so easily found and lit when he brought her to his odd home. After a moment's panic, she found it along with a box of matches, and soon her path was illuminated.

Christine's footsteps echoed dully through each dank corridor, and the smell of the lake grew stronger, until the hall she was walking through opened up into a great cavern, and the lake was right before her, dark and ominous in its stillness.

"Maestro?" she tried again, as the boat was gone. That must mean he was home, right?

"Maestro, where are you?"

Still no answer. Now what was she supposed to do?

Sighing, Christine moved closer to the lake, and carefully peered over the edge of the bank.

She found herself wondering just how deep the water was, and if anything lived within its depths.

"_Don't fall in."_

Christine shrieked, jumping back from the edge and bringing a hand to her heaving chest. She watched as a boat emerged from the fog on the lake, a light swinging on the front.

"Maestro?" came her timid call.

"Who else?" Came his sarcastic reply, and a few moments later he was tying off the boat and stepping onto land.

"What are you doing here, child?" he asked wearily.

"We did not finish our conversation earlier." she stated simply.

"I see. So, you've come to continue begging my forgiveness and convincing me that my ghastly face has not imprinted a morbid scar in your mind that will haunt you for the rest of your life, have you?" his tone was sharp, biting, and Christine physically recoiled.

"M-maestro?"

"How dare you come here asking forgiveness after you just blatantly acted against my direct orders?" he demanded, advancing on her.

"I-I don't know what you mean!" she exclaimed, eyes wide and face going pale.

"Do not play stupid with me, Christine. You've proven that you have more than enough intelligence, even if you do only seem to employ it in deception and feminine wiles!"

"Deception? How dare you accuse me of deceiving you, when you've spent the last few months lying to me, pretending to be an angel, taking advantage-"

"I have not taken advantage of you in any way! Tell me, when have I forced my body-"

"Not your body, your mind!" she cried, eyes overflowing.

Erik glowered. "We have gone off the subject." he hissed. "When our arrangement was made, when I offered to teach you, did I not set very strict rules?"

Christine nodded, mute.

"And was one of the rules not that you were to see absolutely **no** gentlemen, that you must be serious about music and not romance?"

"But-!"

"_**And**_ did you not agree whole-heartedly?"

"Yes, but that was before-"

"Ah yes, it was perfectly okay to agree when there were no wealthy, handsome gentlemen asking you to dinner and attempting to turn you into a common whore!"

"How dare you! Raoul would never-!"

"My dear, I assure you. All that boy wants is to take your purity. He did not even notice you at the rehearsal for Hannibal, it was only after you were a star that he had any interest!"

"No!"

"You disobeyed me, Christine Daae, and willingly, deliberately. You have no respect for your maestro."

"But-"

"And so, your maestro is no more." Erik turned on his heel and made his way back to the boat.

"Good evening, mademoiselle."

"No, please! Please, maestro!" Christine rushed to his side, tightly grasping his arm. "Please, don't abandon me! I'll do anything!"

Erik looked at her from the corner of his eye, showing her only his masked cheek.

"Anything, my dear?"

"Oh, yes!"

"You would gather your things and come live down here with me for one month so that we may strive to mold your voice to perfection in time for Il Muto? You would send away the Vicomte, never to see him again? Would you do that, Christine?"

She hesitated only a moment.

"Yes, maestro. If you ask, I will do it."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Phantom. Fooey!

XXX

The sun was starting to rise outside the Opera House by the time Erik and Christine had finished going through Christine's dressing room and flat, collecting her most important belongings and moving them into Erik's underground home.

"There, that is the last bit." Erik stated as he put a few leather-bound books on the small shelf in the bedroom he'd designed for Christine. "Go ahead and get some sleep. I will wake you in a few hours for some breakfast and a more detailed tour of the house."

Christine nodded, too exhausted to speak, and slipped into the attached bathroom, closing the door silently behind her.

Erik dusted off his hands and looked around the bedroom, elated. Phase one of his plan was now in place.

XXX

"Christine, time to wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and Christine was confused for a moment, before recalling where she was.

She looked toward the bedroom door and slipped out of bed, padding across the plush-carpeted floor in her bare feet toward the closet where her clothing now hung.

"Give me just a moment, please." she called back, and heard his footsteps as he walked away.

Christine sighed. What had she been thinking?

Last night when she wandered through the catacombs, it had been to find her teacher and apologize for leaving so suddenly that afternoon, not to strike up some new living arrangements!

Why had she been so frightened, so distraught, over the thought of not having him as her teacher? He was not an angel, but instead an imposter, a fraud, and the feared Opera Ghost, none the less! Wouldn't it have been better to have him out of her life? It wasn't as if there weren't other music teacher in Paris, and she knew that even if she couldn't afford them, Raoul would have been more than willing to pay…

Raoul!

She was to go a month without seeing him, and no explanation? He'd be frantic with worry for her!

This was such a mistake! What if this man, her "maestro", hurt her? What if once a month was over, he refused to let her leave. What if-

"Christine? Your breakfast is getting cold, child. Can't you hurry?"

Quickly wiggling into a dress, Christine opened the bedroom door and came face-to-chest with her maestro.

"Oh!"

"Ah. There you are. Breakfast, my dear?" he offered his arm with an almost shy smile, and Christine carefully took it, nodding.

Together, they walked through the house, and Christine's face flushed in shame as they passed the great, magnificent organ and she remembered how she had cruelly taken his mask.

Glancing up at him, she softened, and when they reached the small kitchen, she sat at the table and immediately began to speak.

"Maestro?"

Erik looked over his shoulder at Christine as he prepared her plate at the small wood-burning stove. "Yes, my dear?"

"Perhaps, since I am to stay here with you for such an extended period of time, you could tell me what to call you when you are not my teacher?"

Erik frowned and turned, placing her plate on the table and sitting down in the chair across from her. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, well if I'm going to be here all the time, there will be time during our lessons when you will be my teacher, but during the other times, we shall be friends, won't we?"

He nodded slowly.

"Well, surely you don't expect me to call you "maestro" all the time, do you?"

Chuckling nervously, he shook his head.

"No, I suppose not." he faltered, unsure if he could bear hearing his name fall from Christine's perfect lips.

"You may call me 'Erik'."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Phantom.****

Notes: Once again, thank you all for the great reviews! This fic is doing much better than I'd originally expected, and I'm finding myself extremely excited to work on it every day. Hopefully the chapter lengths are more to your liking now. I know they're still a bit on the short side, but it's my nature to do shorter chapters and more of them than the other way around. Keep reviewing, please! And if you have any ideas for the fic, anything you'd really like to see happen, please let me know and I'll see about working it in!

XXX

Erik.

_The name fits him._ Christine thought to herself with a slight nod. She was still looking into Erik's eyes from across the table, and she realized that he looked a bit unsure and nervous.

_What on Earth does he have to be worried about?_ It didn't make sense. He had all the cards in his hand. She was in his home, helpless to leave, under his complete command, and yet he looked as if he were as frightened and lost as a little boy.

"Do you have a last name, or should I call you monsieur Erik?" she asked, an almost teasing note to her voice, and she was surprised to see a dark expression come over his face.

"No. No last name for Erik." he murmured. "And there is no need for formalities, we know each other too well."

_Did they?_ Christine wondered, _She'd thought she knew him, but if he'd been lying about being an angel, could it be that everything she thought she knew about his personality, his likes, his dislikes… could that all have been a lie as well?_

"Yes, of course." she said softly, looking down at her plate.

"Eat." he commanded, and she noticed he did not have a plate before him. Instead, he was watching her carefully.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"I ate already, while you were sleeping." he lied, giving her a gentle smile. "Go on."

Nodding, she began to eat the eggs he'd prepared for her, finding them to be quite palatable, and soon her plate was empty. She hadn't realized she had been so hungry!

"Good, now how about that tour?"

XXX

Almost an hour later, Christine had been shown around Erik's underground home, seeing his extensive library, the shelves filled with strange books, and equally as strange artifacts from around the world. Erik entertained her with a few stories about some of the stranger pieces, explaining where they were from and how they found their way into his possession. She had also been shown the music room, where many strange instruments lined the walls, some so bizarre that Christine couldn't even hazard a guess as to how they were played. But the best part of the room was the large grand piano in the center, littered with papers, ink pens, and a large red ink well. Obviously, this was where the formidable Opera Ghost let his genius run forth.

Erik had also made sure she knew where his bedroom was, although she was told in no uncertain terms that she was not to enter at any time.

They were back in the sitting room now, seated before a large fireplace with flames happily licking at the logs inside, and Erik was explaining to Christine how their days would go.

"Every day at three o'clock, we will meet in the music room to practice. We will spend forty five minutes warming up your voice so you do not strain it, and then we shall go right into rehearsing Il Muto's lead roll."

"But I am to be the Page Boy, not the Countess." Christine protested, brow furrowed.

"Don't worry about that, you'll be the lead before opening night." Erik dismissed, waving a hand. "Now then, after two hours of rehearsing the music, we shall run through the spoken lines from the start of the Opera to the finish, and this routine will continue through Opening Night. It should, if done correctly, take one hour. If need be, we will continue a form of the Il Muto rehearsal after the show is open, but I think by then, you shall be perfect, and no further work will be needed."

Christine nodded, her head spinning. Three hours and forty five minutes of straight rehearsal?

"We shall then break for dinner and some warm tea for your voice. After, we will warm you up again, this time just for twenty minutes, after which we shall work on _my_ music," his eyes were glowing with excitement. "and for that, there is no time limit. We may go as short or as long as we choose."

"Your music?" she had to admit, she was rather excited to hear it.

"Yes. I am writing an Opera. My Magnum Opus, if you will. It is my life's pursuit, only after it is finished may I die in peace." he said simply. "And you will help me to perfect it."

"Me?" she was startled.

"Yes, my dear. Your voice as that of Amita… I will be able to make the music, the passion, the _life_ just right."

Standing abruptly, Erik flashed a quick smile.

"Well then, shall we get started?"


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

XXX

After one hour of rehearsal Christine was exhausted, but Erik was relentless.

"Again, Christine. It's still not right!" He played the opening, and mustering up all her energy, Christine began to sing.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!"

"No, no, no!" Erik roared, bringing his hands crashing down on the keys in a series of harsh notes. "It's all wrong! The countess is poised, snobbish, self-assured, not sweet and gentle! Again!"

Fighting the urge to refuse, Christine started again.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!"

"**Stop**!" he exclaimed, jumping up from the bench and striding toward her. Roughly he adjusted her posture, lifting her chin and moving back her shoulders. Returning to the piano, he wordlessly played the introduction again.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!"

Groaning, Erik waved his hand, signaling for her to stop.

"Maybe we should just let it rest, maestro. Perhaps I'm better suited as the page boy this time. This seems much more like the kind of roll for Carlotta."

Erik winced, and rubbed the back of his neck. Part of him wanted to protest and insist that Christine had the lead, and part of him knew that she was right, and that, no matter how well Christine could sign and act, there was no substitute for real snobby, self-centered and shallow personality, all of which Carlotta had in abundance.

Relenting, Erik nodded. "Perhaps you are right." He said simply. "Although, having no songs to practice will cut our time dramatically, I'm afraid."

Inwardly cheering, Christine nodded, moving to stand closer to Erik and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I guess we'll just have to make due with working on your "Magnum Opus"."

He nodded slowly. "And your 'lines', as they are. Your roll may be silent, but there is still much to learn in the way of movement and mannerisms. Shall we?"

XXX

Forty five minutes later, Christine was sipping at some lemon tea while Erik sorted through pile after pile of music, red ink catching her eyes as she tried to read the lyrics without being too obvious. From what she could catch, the opera seemed to be about a man loved by everyone who women adored and all wanted to marry. He also seemed to have a friend who was with him in almost every scene, called Pasarino. Christine was intrigued.

Finally appearing to have everything in order, Erik sat upon the piano bench, shook out his hands, and began to speak.

"This opera, my dear, is filled with the most passion and longing you will ever hear. It is about the desperate desires of all mankind to be lost in the joys of the flesh and experience true acceptance for who-and what-they are. It is about the ability of one woman to look past all she thinks she knows of a man, and see who he truly is inside, and her desire to know him as a lover and give him the companionship he's never known or thought he wanted: that of a partner, a lover, not just a woman with who to share the most base of human delights with.

"It is about lust, arousal, betrayal, passion, anger, and above all, true love in the most strange and unexpected of places."

Christine stared, awe struck for several moments.

"I…see. And, what is this opera called?"

Erik smiled a most cynical grin.

"_Don Juan Triumphant_."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Phantom.

XXX__

Don Juan Triumphant. Christine thought as she looked at Erik curiously.

"And now, my dear, we begin."

Nodding, Christine moved to his side, watching as he placed a piece of music on the stand.

"The opening song, between Don Juan and his friend Pasarino." He said simply, than put another paper over that.

"Don Juan and his first sight of Aminta." Another piece.

"Don Juan and Pasarino discussing Aminta." Another.

"Aminta meeting the many lovers of Don Juan and thinking him a pig." Another.

"Aminta meeting Don Juan, and thinking he is Pasarino." Another.

"Don Juan meeting Aminta as himself, and her disliking his womanizing behavior, while he falls in love with her." Another.

"Aminta falling in love with who she thinks is Pasarino, but who is really Don Juan in disguise." Another.

"Don Juan and Pasarino planning a way to make Aminta make love to Don Juan, by disguising him as Pasarino, and revealing who he really is after the fact." Another.

"Aminta and Don Juan, who is disguised as Pasarino, falling madly in love and lust with one another." He paused. "And this, my dear, is where I have stopped." He gestured to the music. "As you can see, the song is not finished."

Christine nodded.

"After this song, the opera ends. It must be perfect, they are in love."

"But he's lying to her. You cannot end it that way! She believes him to be someone else, she's in love with a lie!"

"It must end that way, she hates Don Juan. He must pretend, or she shall leave him!" Erik exclaimed. "Now, the song."

Christine sighed and nodded.

"It is to be a duet between Don Juan and Aminta, but I cannot seem to find fitting words for her to sing. Allow me to play for you what I have, and then you may tell me of your ideas. I regret to say that this delicate pinnacle of the opera requires a woman's gentle touch to perfect the wording."

Christine stood near the piano, and waited.

Striking the beginning chords, Erik sang.

"_You have come here_

_in pursuit of your deepest urge_

_in pursuit of that wish which 'til now_

_has been silent, silent._

_I have brought you_

_That our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind you've already_

_Succumb to me_

_Dropped all defenses_

_Completely succumb to me_

_Now you are here with me,_

_No second thoughts,_

_You've decided_

_Decided._

_Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_Our games of make believe are at an end_

_Past all thought of if or when_

_No use resisting_

_Abandon thought and let_

_The dream descend_

_What raging fire shall_

_Flood the soul_

_What rich desire_

_Unlocks its door_

_What sweet seduction lies_

_Before us_

_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_What warm unspoken secrets_

_Will we learn_

_Beyond the point of_

_No return."_

Breathing heavily, Erik slowly turned his head to look at Christine.

And found himself staring into the dark, passion-filled eyes of his student-turned-woman.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Phantom of the Opera, unfortunately.****

XXX

One look into Christine's eyes, and a lightning bolt of inspiration flew into Erik's mind. The words for Aminta's part that he'd been struggling with finally came to him, and he frantically scrambled for a paper and his pen, quickly beginning to scribble words across it.

Startled at the sudden break of eye contact, Christine blinked a few times and took a step toward Erik, peeking over his shoulder and reading the words as they came out of his mind and onto the paper in feverish strokes of red ink.

She flushed at the lyrics, surprised at how wanton they sounded, but she knew that they fit with the energy of the song perfectly. She continued to watch as Erik filled two pieces of paper, than set them before Christine.

"Sing." He commanded, and then began to play. Taking a deep breath, Christine began.

"_You have brought me_

_to that moment where words_

_run dry_

_to that moment where speech disappears_

_into darkness, darkness_

_I have come here, hardly knowing the_

_Reason why_

_In my mind I've already imagined_

_Our bodies intwining_

_Defenseless and silent_

_Now I am here with you_

_No second thoughts_

_I've decided_

_Decided_

_Past the point of no return_

_No going back now_

_Our passion play has now at last begun_

_Past the point of right or wrong_

_One final question_

_How long should we two wait_

_Before we're one_

_When will the blood begin to race_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom_

_When will the flames at last_

_Consume us."_

Breathing heavily, Erik began to sing with her for the final chorus, his heart racing and eyes dark with desire.

"_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed_

_So stand and watch it burn_

_We've passed the point of_

_No return."_

Silence, save for the sound of their thick breathing in the air, and then Christine gave a soft sigh.

"It... it's so dark, so…passionate. But I love it." She whispered, and Erik gave a slight smile.

"I knew it. You are a creature of the darkness, too."

XXX

"I don't care what you think! She has disappeared without a trace, and I want her found!"

"Monsieur le Vicomte, please! We are doing our best, but we can hardly disallow Mademoiselle Daae to leave the Opera House if she so chooses."

"She's been gone for almost a day! Where would she have to go? She has no family, nothing but this Opera House! Don't you see? She's been kidnapped, taken, something!'

Firmin and Andre chuckled.

"By who, Monsieur le Vicomte-the Phantom?" they shared a bout of laughter, and Raoul frowned.

"I hardly find the amusement in this situation! Who will play the Page Boy if she is not found?"

The two managers sobered.

"Surely she will return before rehearsal tomorrow morning, monsieur. We have nothing to worry about."

"I hope you're right, gentlemen. I hope you're right."

XXX

"Time for bed, my dear." Erik murmured, coming to the sitting room to find Christine engrossed in a book he'd given her earlier that day to read.

"Oh, is it that late already?" she murmured, marking her page and giving a soft, feminine yawn and stretch.

"Indeed. It is nearly ten o'clock, and you have a busy day tomorrow."

"Oh yes, rehearsals will certainly take a lot out of me, I suppose." Christine mused, and Erik frowned.

"Rehearsals? I hope you do not mean with the company!" he said incredulously.

"Why… of course I do." She murmured, confused.

"No, no, my dear. You are here for a month, and that includes not leaving for rehearsal. We shall be doing plenty of practice here, you have no need to go above and work with those cretins."

Christine stared in shock. "But… what will the managers think-Monsieur Reyer? They shall think I've abandoned the company!" she was nearly panicked, and she stared at Erik in shocked displeasure.

"Do you think me so crass? I plan to send a note to the managers tomorrow explaining the situation in a manner they shall understand. Do not worry, my dear. You shall only become a better artist for your time away from their sullying excuses for talent. On opening night you shall return to them a beautiful swan. This will be the last time they give Carlotta the lead, my dear. I shall make you a star, but sacrifice is necessary."

Christine sighed, looking down at her hands. What could she say? She was grateful for his help, but not at the expense of sunlight, human contact, a normal life!

"Now, my dear, it is time for bed. I shall wake you in the morning."

She stood and walked toward her bedroom.

"Sleep well, my little dove."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom at all.

Notes: SO SO SO SORRY for the extremely long time since I've updated this (or any of my stories!), I have been completely uninspired to write any Phantom… but after editing this story, I felt compelled to play with it a bit more. Hence, this update!

XXX

"What nerve! First that note about his salary, about how this is _his_ Opera House, and now this bit of rubbish!"

"Quite!" Andre nodded fervently as he stood across the desk from Firmin in their office.

"_Mademoiselle Daae is currently studying at a capacity that far exceeds the level of tutelage she received under your organization. Rest assured that on opening night she will be back in your undeserving presence, ready to play the side roll – this time._

_But mark my words, gentlemen. This __**will**__ be the last time Mademoiselle Christine Daae is cast in anything but the highest roll. You have been warned._" Firmin recited as he held the piece of paper in hands trembling with outrage.

"At least he didn't mention his _wages_ again." Andre soothed, patting his partner on the shoulder in a gesture of male camaraderie. Firmin rolled his eyes.

"What are we going to do about the Vicomte? I'd be less troubled by this missive if we didn't have him breathing down our necks about the girl! He's liable to tear this whole theater apart looking for her."

"Who says he has to know?" Andre rejoined, and Firmin paused.

"Quite, my good man."

XXX

Meanwhile, seven levels below the worried managers, Christine Daae was lost in a world of fantasy and romance as she reclined on the comfortable divan in the lair of The Phantom, reading one of many novels that had been recommended by her most unusual host.

In fact, Erik had pulled over a dozen books from his shelves and then had taken the time to sit with Christine and explain the premise and merits of each tome, eager to share some of his joys with her, and very pleased that she seemed so enthusiastic about his interests.

She was currently reading of the tiresome and rude Mr. Darcy when Erik slipped into the parlor with a tray in his hands.

He found himself rather eager to take care of the petite woman sharing his home, and had made a pot of tea, as well as gathered some biscuits from the kitchens up above, in order to treat Christine to a bit of an afternoon luncheon. He only had a month, after all, to convince her to never leave.

"Christine?" he called gently from the doorway, and she jumped a little before looking up and catching his gaze. He was pleased to see that she relaxed immediately.

"Oh, Erik! You startled me! I guess I was a bit lost in the story." She said softly, face glowing. This book is absolutely wonderful! I find myself feeling almost as if I'm right there next to Elizabeth and the rest of the Bennett family, experiencing everything at their side!"

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, my dear. I had hoped you would find that particular novel to be to your enjoyment. The message that it gives, that people are not always as you first perceive them… well, I found it most appropriate, given our current situation." Erik murmured as he brought the tray forward and placed it on the low table before the divan. Easily he poured Christine a cup and held it out on the small saucer, meeting her eyes with his intense gaze.

Blushing, although she wasn't exactly sure why, Christine marked her page delicately, then set the book aside and accepted the tea from her host, giving a soft gasp when their fingertips brushed. Erik appeared equally as surprised by the unexpected contact, although Christine noted, most strangely, that he appeared more shaken than anything, as if touching her had disrupted some delicate balance inside of himself.

"Well, I shall leave you to your tea. I will be in the music room, if you have need of me." Erik excused himself, giving a short bow and heading to the door.

"Wait, do you have to go?" When he turned and gave her a curious look, she flushed lightly and continued, "I mean, I've been on my own all morning and I certainly wouldn't mind some company, if you're agreeable."

Giving a nod, Erik returned to her side, and seated himself on the other side of the divan, leaving plenty of space between them. It certainly wouldn't do to crowd her, not when everything seemed to be going so well according to his plan.

"So, Erik…" Christine began, looking at him a bit shyly before returning her gaze to stare into the dark tea in her cup, watching the steam rise and the liquid swirl as she moved with her breathing, "before I came here, what did you do with yourself all day?"

He was thoughtful for a moment, and then replied, "I spent a great deal of time with my music, or buried within a novel or two. And of course, there was the time I spent tutoring you," he looked a bit uncomfortable, "the time seemed to pass quickly enough, I suppose when you're quite used to being on your own… well, it's never quite difficult to entertain yourself."

Christine nodded, realizing just what a lonely life her teacher must have led.

"But surely you must have had people around you before… before you and I met?"

He slowly shook his head. "No, no companionship for Erik… I have been most alone for a very long time. There are those I must associate with in order to maintain my lifestyle, some people I have under my… employ, I suppose, to fetch things for me… but it has been many long years since I have been in close contact with others, and even then, the experience was not… pleasant."

"Oh, I see." Christine said softly, although she didn't feel all that less confused and in the dark.

She could see that Erik was fidgeting just a little, and realized that the line of conversation must be getting a bit uncomfortable for him. _Well of course it is, you fool! _She castigated herself, _anyone could see that he's had a painful life; poking into his business is probably quite unpleasant for him!_

"But you aren't unfamiliar to loneliness, Christine." He pulled her from her thoughts with his softly spoken words. "For you have felt very alone, even in a crowd of people ever since your father died, have you not?"

She blinked, surprised to be stripped bare before him emotionally with just one simple observation. She nodded dumbly.

"We aren't so different from one another, you know. We've both known great loss, and great misfortune. We both long for someone to understand us, to soothe us, and sometimes, to protect us from the cruelties of the world. I feel I must tell you, Christine, that I have often felt that you have the ability to understand me, understand the pain I feel, the lonesome depths of my soul, better than any other being ever could. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

She wasn't sure. Blinking, she wet her lips with a quick pass of her tongue.

"I… I'm not sure. I don't feel as if I understand anything about you, really." She admitted, and Erik chuckled.

"Then we are quite on the same page, my dear. I often feel I don't understand myself in the slightest."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I am making no profit from writing this.

Notes: Wow! So, it's been quite a while since I've updated this story! In fact, I haven't done much writing at all in the past year, I guess real life just got way too busy for a while. I intend to work on all my in-progress stories, but felt most inclined to continue this one for now. My apologies for the delay! I have everything mapped out now and know what each chapter will entail, so hopefully I can update this quite regularly, maybe once a week, until it's done. Wish me luck and I hope you enjoy!

**Lost in His Obsession**

_Chapter 13_

_Day Five_

It was only after a great deal of careful thought that Erik decided to tell Christine more about himself and his life. His past was not pretty - rather it was sullied with the great stains of death, cruelty and deceit.

It had been his hope, he later realized, to shield Christine from all of life's less pleasant truths, especially those that may make him lose what little of her favor that he had so far gained.

Never the less, he was prepared, at the very least, when one the morning of their fifth day together, Christine shyly looked up from her breakfast and asked:

"Why don't you say grace over our meals, Erik?"

Of course, she realized that it wasn't quite right to call the meals "theirs" when she was always the only one eating… in fact, she was quite concerned that, judging by his almost gaunt features, Erik was being les than truthful when he told her that he had already eaten.

Erik quirked an unseen brow at Christine's carefully-asked question, and gave serious thought before replying.

"I do not say grace, Christine, because it was of my belief that God has no interest in my gratitude, and that he is even less deserving of it."

His hands remained folded calmly on the table before him, although the whiteness of his knuckles as his fingers clenched together belied the tension he currently felt.

Christine, for her part, was speechless. She looked, wide-eyed, at Erik, lips parted as if she were on the verge of speech.

"You see, Christine, thought my life it has been demonstrated time and time again that there is no place in the ever-loving arms of the Lord for a man such as myself. Do not misunderstand me; I understand his positing on the matter wholly. When one such as me seeks salvation, well, such a thing is abhorrent at best."

Christine's head shook rapidly, curls bouncing around her face and shoulders as she finally found her voice.

"That-that's ridiculous! Why would you think that God as no affection for you? He loves all of His children!"

"Ah, but _does_ he? Christine, save for one thing, God has never one me a kindness, from the face I was cursed with upon birth to every trial by fire I have endured in the many years after, never has the slightest kindness been show to me, never the slightest hint that there was good to come, or that my tremendous suffering was for any reason other than sadistic entertainment for a God that has no room for monsters like me."

Nearly in tears, Christine stared at the man across from her in shock.

"What has happened to make you so bitter?" she asked, his voice raw with emotion, "please, help me to understand!"

Christine knew her maestro had a difficult life; he had alluded to that fact several times, and even if he hadn't, it didn't take a great deal of deductive powers to look at him, at his unfortunate face, and guess that his life had probably not been ideal. Still, what could have happened to distort his spirit and soul so fully?

Erik sighed deeply, shoulders sagging, and Christine was struck with the sudden realization that she didn't even know his age, although at the moment it seemed that he could be quite advanced in years, indeed.

""Christine, it is not one event, or even a few, that have so affected me, but rather the sum of the whole. Innumerable things have happened to me, and because of me. When one has led a life such as mine…"

"But what kind of life _have_ you led?"

Erik frowned, and bowed his head for a moment.

"I've told you before that I have never known love. This is true. Even the love of a mother has been denied me. The family dog was more parent to me than my mother ever was. She despised the very thought of me, let alone the sight. All that I learned, I taught myself.

I left home at an early age, and was "taken in" by a traveling circus that beat me, tortured me, and put my hideous face on display night after night for many years. I had to kill my "master" to escape. And that, my dear, is only the beginning." He finished darkly, avoiding eye contact.

Christine forced her mouth to close, and continued to stare in disbelief at her strange angel.

"I-how could-" she faltered, then went silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts, "I'm so sorry, Erik."

Slowly his gaze lifted, and their eyes met just briefly, before he stood abruptly and began to clear the table.

"Yes, well, certainly not suitable breakfast conversation. Come now, let us prepare to rehearse."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer:** Don't own The Phantom of the Opera. I am making no profit from this story.

**Notes:** So glad to see that even though I haven't updated in a long time there are still people reading! I really appreciate the reviews left; they were lovely and very motivating.

_**Lost in His Obsession**_

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Day Ten_

Christine was unsure about many things when it came to her angel, save one:

She could watch him play forever.

Usually so imposing, once seated at his piano Erik seemed more gentle and patient. She loved to watch his fingers move over the keys almost as much as she loved the relaxed expression on what she could see of his face.

Christine heard the key change in the song that cued her to begin to sing, and she smiled, doing so effortlessly, her voice rising to melt into the music seamlessly.

She had to admit, it was times like these that she could most imagine staying below with him forever.

Listening to Christine's pure voice harmonizing with his melody caused goose bumps to break out across his body, and Erik's eyes slid closed in ecstasy. His music was destined for her voice alone, and listening to hit was as close as Erik had ever come, or ever would come, to a holy experience.

"Good, good… sustain the note through the bridge…" he coaxed, fingers thundering over the keys flawlessly.

Christine heard the praise in his words and with a smile, her voice rose up over the break for the final crescendo, heart racing and chest nearly heaving.

"Yes, yes!" Erik cried, enraptured as he pounded out the last few notes, gasping for breath.

As the sound slowly dissipated, Erik's head hung low, shoulders lifting and falling with his rough respirations.

Christine was just as breathless, and felt very warm, her cheeks were rosy and the blush extended down across her chest, staining her bosom a lovely shade of pink. She felt a curious heat, and longing, deep within herself, and blushed all the more for it. Innocent, yes; but she was not naive.

Slowly regaining control of his breathing, Erik turned on the bench and with only the slightest hesitation, met Christine's gaze.

"Perfection." He rasped, causing Christine to shyly look away.

"Thank you, maestro." She murmured, and after a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, she was startled when Erik abruptly stood. Her head lifted on reflex to meet his gaze once again, and she marveled at the slightly disheveled look of him.

His hair was a little out of place, and damp at the temples with perspiration. His face was also moist, and Christine was struck with the realization that beneath his mask he must be terribly uncomfortable.

"Erik," she began, and he started as if abruptly brought out of deep thought, "Erik, you must be too warm, why don't you-"

His hand shot up, palm facing her in interruption.

"Do not ask it of me, Christine." He said simply, before walking purposefully across the room.

"I'm afraid I need to leave you here on your own for a few hours. I must meet with an… associate regarding supplies and materials needed here at my home. It would be best for me to attend this meeting alone. I trust you will be all right here for a short while? Perhaps you can finish that novel you were reading last night?"

Christine nodded, a little too surprised by his sudden declaration to speak, and he gave her a small smile and short bow in response.

"Good. I shall see you in a few hours time. Please, do not leave the house while I am away, the passages can be misleading, and you do not want to get lost, hmm?"

"O-of course, Erik. I will remain here, don't worry about me." She managed a careful smile, and reassured, Erik relaxed his posture slightly and made for the door.

Christine watched him leave, and when she heard the door close heavily behind him, a chill ran down her spine. _ All alone in the underground lair of the Opera Ghost,_ Christine thought, _what would Meg say about this, I wonder?_

Giggling nervously, she turned toward the library, thinking that Erik's suggestion to read was most apt. It was as she walked down the narrow hallway that she passed The Door.

It was always closed, and Christine remembered the first time Erik brought her here, he had told her that the room as off limits, that it contained things not for her eyes. She hesitated. Was it locked? What if she just took a small peek? After all, she wanted so much to better understand him; perhaps the contents of the room would aid her on that quest?

Picking up a nearby candle, Christine reached out trembling fingers and grasped the cold metal of the doorknob-it turned easily in her hand, as if encouraging her to continue inside. The door opened silently, and she stepped inside, holding the candle high to look around her, and froze.

In the center of the room on a raised platform was a coffin.

And she screamed.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I only own this story line.

**Notes:** Sorry for the long wait for this next chapter, but here it is. Things are definitely coming to a climax!

**Lost in His Obsession**

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Day Nineteen_

_Breathe, Christine… it's just a coffin. In his bedroom. Instead of a bed. Oh my God, oh my God…_

Christine's heart pounded, thoughts racing almost incoherently as she stared at the center of Erik's bedroom, and the glossy black coffin that rested there.

_It must have been very expensive, Father's coffin didn't look nearly so nice…_

Quickly nipping that line of thought in the bud, Christine forced herself to step forward. At least the coffin was open, so she was fairly sure it was empty. Which, of course, meant that her suspicions about the purpose of the large lacquered box were, in fact, correct.

Peering down inside of it, she saw a few pillows, and next to the coffin were an empty wine glass and a stack of books. Yes, this was definitely where he slept. But why?

_He's alive, I've felt the warmth from him, saw him breathe! Why sleep in a coffin?_

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Christine backed out of the room, eyes never leaving the large box until the door was closing. She spun around then, pushing her back against the cool wood and closing her eyes.

After a few moments in which her heart rate slowed back to normal, and her breathing became much less hurried and labored, Christine resolved to confront Erik about the coffin as soon as he returned home.

Decision made, she strode purposefully to the kitchen for a glass of wine. Lord knew, she needed it.

XXXX

"Monsieur le Vicomte, I assure you, Mademoiselle Daae is fine! She is simply not here at the moment."

Raoul glared at the managers as he stood in their office, hands convulsively clenching and unclenching in irritation.

"And where else would she be? She lives here, for God's sake!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

"We do not know where she has gone, perhaps to the market? It certainly isn't our job to watch every chorus member, certainly you understand…" Firmin tried his best to soothe the Vicomte, but Raoul was having none of it.

"There is something you aren't telling me. This is the second time in a week that she's been conveniently 'unavailable' when I've called. Do you take me for a fool?"

"Certainly not, monsieur!" Andre jumped in, raising his hands in a placating manner, "we're telling you all that we know! Honestly, she goes out from time to time, but always returns in good spirits!"

Raoul heaved a heavy sigh. "Will you tell her I've been by again? That I'm concerned and only wish to speak to her?" he asked, forehead wrinkling with his worry.

"Of course, monsieur, of course!" Firmin replied, nodding exaggeratedly, "as soon as we see her next we will relay your message. Have no fear!"

XXXX

When Erik let himself into the underground home several hours later, he knew immediately that something was not right. The house was silent, and he entered the sitting room to find Christine reading a book and sipping a glass of wine. Judging by the half-empty bottle on the table before her, things were decidedly not good.

"Christine?" he ventured carefully, and she looked up with bright eyes.

"You're back, thank God." She replied, setting both glass and book aside and folding her hands in her lap.

"Has something happened?" he asked anxiously, striding across the room to seat himself on the settee nearest her chair, "what is it?"

"Did you know that there's a very large, black coffin in your bedroom?" she asked candidly, crossing her arms over her chest. Erik paled beneath his mask, eyes going wide for a moment, then narrowing.

"And what were you doing in my bedroom?" he asked, voice low. "I believe I told you quite plainly that it was off limits."

Christine had the good graces to blush, but continued on, undeterred. "I apologize for invading your personal space, but what's done is done, and I've seen what I've seen. Now please, explain!"

"No."

Christine's mouth opened and closed a few times, so completely blindsided was she by his blatant refusal to talk. "What do you mean, no?"

"Just that. 'No'. I will not explain myself to you like a criminal." He stated plainly. "Now, besides breaking into my bedroom, did you get up to anything else interesting today?" he asked politely, sitting back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap.

"How-how dare you! I was frightened half out of my mind, can't you at least tell me why? Why do you sleep in such a thing, as if you were a corpse? It's so-so _morbid!_" she begged for understanding, tongue loosened by the alcohol she had consumed, and Erik's brittle control snapped.

"I sleep in the coffin like a corpse because I _am_ a corpse, Christine! Could you deny it? After all, you have seen the horrors of my face; you know all too well the truth of what lay hidden behind my mask. What other place would be more fitting for one such as myself to rest each night, than in the coffin I should have been placed in upon birth?" his voice was at a near-roar by the time he was finished, and Christine quailed for a moment, then shook herself and rallied.

"Erik, you're so caught up in what you look like, so caught up in what the world has done to you, that you can't even see the way things are. I saw your face, yes, but I'm here!"

"You are here because I blackmailed you," he said sadly, "and for no other reason."

"Are you views really so distorted, Erik? Are you really so blind? You sleep in a coffin to punish yourself for something over which you have no control, you write a beautiful opera and then ruin it with a character filled with hate and lies, and through that deceit he finds love? Do you truly not see the merits of honesty? Do you really hate yourself so much?"

"I hate myself only as much as the world already hates me. And you are nothing but a child, Christine; you don't understand Don Juan, what he must do in order to ensure his happiness!"

"Such lies cannot bring happiness, Erik, only pain! And I am not a child, I'm a grown woman!"

"Not a child, Christine? What reason do I have to believe such a thing? You entered my bedroom without permission, you demand things of me with such insolence and –"

His tirade was cut short by the stunning sensation of lips against his own, and he froze, eyes open wide, arms hanging limply at his sides. She was kissing him. Christine was _kissing _him!

It was chaste and lasted only a few moments, and then she was standing before him, cheeks red and eyes over-bright.

"I am not a child." She repeated, before she rushed from the room, and moments later Erik heard her bedroom door slam shut.

Not a child, indeed.


End file.
